


One Year Later

by mrasaki



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-27
Updated: 2009-06-27
Packaged: 2017-10-07 06:01:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrasaki/pseuds/mrasaki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Balthier tilted his head in the familiar gesture, the same half-teasing blink of long lashes. "Not going to say hello?" he asked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Year Later

**Author's Note:**

> For the [](http://community.livejournal.com/springkink/profile)[**springkink**](http://community.livejournal.com/springkink/) prompt "Final Fantasy XII, Basch/Balthier: post game reunion - Basch and Balthier meet for the first time in a year."

The beep and flash of Basch’s handheld pad interrupted him on the way to the transport docks. Eyes closed, he fleetingly considered ignoring it and the urgent message scrolling across the screen, but sighed. T’was his duty, after all, and he had chosen it with both hands.

Basch had anticipated certain unsavory duties when he’d assumed the role of Judge Magister Gabranth, things like court intrigues, political schemes, and rebellions, but he’d discovered that these were by far outstripped by mind-numbing administrative routine. Paperwork and procedure had become the banes of his life. It happened quite often that he was obliged to remain late into the evening, much too late for anything but summoning a transport back to Tsenoble and ordering a meal in. Like today.

He didn’t begrudge the time, for the most part. There was, after all, nothing and no one waiting for him in Tsenoble, and duty, mundane though it was, formed the backbone of his life.

He thumbed the screen reluctantly, and read. A wanted Archadian criminal had been captured, and was being held in the lower prison levels.

Basch could have put it off to the morning and to a junior Judge, but the criminal also happened to be a high-ranking aristocrat and so was entitled a Judge Magister’s personal attention. A high-ranking aristocrat also warranted haste. Letting him languish in the holding cells overnight would likely offend the public if it were known, the Archadian gentry being ever so prickly about their entitlements, no matter criminal or no.

Anticipating little pleasure in the encounter and even less time for sleep after, he keyed the correct department with a sigh and requested the prisoner be escorted to his office. He turned on his heel and returned the way he came.

*

The man was standing by the window, looking down at the glittering lights of the city, his familiarity so striking that Basch halted in the doorway. Then the figure turned and the gleam of the lamp on Basch’s desk fell in golden stripes across the patrician lines of his face, and Basch knew.

“Balthier,” he breathed.

The sky pirate smiled at him. “I should be insulted that the price on my head wasn’t cancelled after my service to Ivalice,” Balthier said, in that half-joking, half sardonic tenor that Basch had always associated with early mornings by the campfire and the smell of coffee. Balthier had always been the first to rise, and Basch had often awoken to his low voice, speaking to Fran.

Anger choked his own voice at Balthier’s ability to be flippant at a time like this, even while he felt joy. “Nice helmet,” Balthier added, almost as an afterthought, his voice trailing away as he tensed slightly, trying to read Basch’s expression.

Basch motioned the two guards out. Once he was able to fight off the reflexive irritation, he was unable to keep himself from staring.

Balthier had changed.

The alterations were not acute, but Balthier was thinner than before, a little paler. Lines of pain were etched around his eyes, thrown into sharp contrast by the half-light of Basch’s desk lamp. Wherever he'd been, he’d not been well. The resentment in Basch’s chest eased.

Balthier tilted his head in the familiar gesture, the same half-teasing blink of long lashes. “Not going to say hello?” he asked, then Basch wasn’t sure what he was going to do before he found himself crossing the room swiftly, dropping his helmet with a hollow crash on the floor. He pressed Balthier against the cold panes of the window and kissed him.

Balthier gasped into his mouth, but his hands came up without hesitation to cup Basch’s face, testing the texture of his clean-shaven cheeks as if wondering at not finding it overgrown with beard. Basch focused on the thin lips he’d only allowed himself to think of at night, tossing restless and alone in his bed, amid dreams of regret, of a tanned sky pirate with cropped hair who smiled mysteriously at him and disappeared into white sunshine. He forgot to breathe, lost in soft lips and sharp teeth and the scent of sandalwood, the wicked wet tongue that was curling with his and stroking along the roof of his mouth as if he and Basch had had long practice.

He drew back, light-headed and panting.

“How much of this can we get off *quickly*?” Balthier murmured, boldly nuzzling and scenting along his jaw, and Basch discovered that his metal-clad thigh had between Balthier’s legs of its own volition, and though Balthier wasn’t moving away it was probably causing pain. He stepped back and quickly unsnapped and unlatched, and his armor fell to the floor. Balthier watched with a quirked eyebrow. “It seems there’ve been some upgrades since my time as Judge,” he observed with a smile that Basch had to kiss again as he ungloved and shed his padding and mail.

He noticed the wrist restraints as Balthier fumbled at Basch’s waist, clumsy as he’d never been before and Basch paused, chagrined that he had not noticed before. He looked to the floor for his keycards, but Balthier leaned away and gave him that rogue’s smile. “Little matter,” he said lightly, and held his wrists to Basch’s view. Coolly manipulated something, a twist of the long fingers, and the heavy restraints fell to the floor with a clunk.

“You—” Basch shook his head at him, though he couldn’t stop his hands couldn’t stop tracing their way up and down Balthier’s arms, as if afraid Balthier would vanish like an apparition. “You always could have—why?” It was a reproach, not just of allowing himself to be captured, but also of Balthier’s long absence, of letting them think he was dead for nearly a year.

But Balthier ignored the underlying question. “My dear Judge Magister, I’m disappointed how poorly you know me,” he said, his smile taking on a tinge of wickedness. “I let myself be arrested.”

Basch was surprised into a laugh, the sting of Balthier’s smug tone and his cavalier attitude to causing his friends grief tempered by the realization that Balthier had come to _him_. Had gone to some trouble to make such an entrance, too. So Basch didn’t reply, didn’t demand actual answers, and only hauled Balthier forward by the hips and surged against the smooth leather and the hardness he found there. Balthier moaned into his mouth, and they leant against the window and rubbed together, Balthier’s hands on Basch’s rear and urging him faster as he pushed up in tandem. Basch’s own hands were braced against the glass, forming ghostly prints of condensation.

Basch had spent many nights awake, thinking what he should have done, would do, fantasies that while they had been traveling had seemed decadent to have in such a time of war and great responsibility, and had seemed of shocking import to have towards a secretive man with whom he had only begun to be friends. But those inhibitions had ceased to matter once the opportunities for their fulfillment had gone. He had Balthier with him now, a second chance, and nothing else mattered. And Balthier was obviously willing.

He nipped along the smooth column of neck as Balthier arched into his touch, and Balthier made a high-pitched noise as Basch delicately traced around his earrings and breathed into his ear. Balthier’s hands became abruptly more desperate and pulling, tugging, he gasped, “You’re—I need—” Balthier was built along leaner lines than Basch but he was strong, and he pushed Basch back a few steps.

They stared at each other, and Basch had enough time to wonder if he’d been mistaken and was about to offer Balthier a way out of this, to call it all off while Basch could retain enough presence of mind to be honorable. But then Balthier slowly knelt and pulled Basch out of his loose leggings, holding his gaze. Basch held his breath, heart pounding, harder than he could ever remember being, a drop of pre-come oozing at the tip and so, so close to that seductive mouth.

“We should have done this sooner,” Balthier said huskily, green eyes hot and naked, all dissembling gone and Basch could only nod, mutely. So much time had been wasted, the journey filled with yearning and distrust on both their parts. But thoughts of regret and sorrow dissolved into static as Balthier licked the tip and took him in his slick mouth. Basch had to lean against the hard edge of his desk to steady himself, and it was just sinful how good it felt, Balthier’s mouth warm and wet and the talented tongue doing obscene things along the underside and flicking against the head.

He rode Balthier’s mouth, hands combing restlessly through the cropped hair that was smooth and bending under his fingers like the grain in a wheat field. To control himself from invading, grabbing the back of Balthier’s head and bucking into that hot, slick mouth, he traced the curves of his ears, the hard metal of his earrings, and bit back the soft moans and the involuntary hitches of his hips.

Balthier’s slim fingers trailed from where they’d been gripping his hips, and as one digging into the skin of his flat belly, the other squeezed the base of his cock. Ah—“Wait,” Basch gasped, and pushed at Balthier’s shoulders.

Balthier pulled off slowly and sat back on his heels, wiping his mouth, and looked at him questioningly, raising an eyebrow. Basch stared back at him, gasping for air, wordless in his need, and Balthier understood. He stood and began shedding his clothes, but unhurriedly. Teasing. Slow, oh so achingly slow, the lean, bronzed body emerged, his nipples dark flat circles on his narrow chest, then a dark blonde smattering of hair starting at his belly and arrowing down into the waist of the leather pants. And then his cock, erect and flushed, and Basch had to bite his lip to keep from coming just from the sight of him. Beautiful.

But— “You were injured,” Basch said softly, gentle fingers following the tracery of scars along Balthier’s arms, shoulders, and a particularly wicked-looking slash across his chest.

Balthier shrugged.

Basch had to swallow against a hard lump, and his voice was rough with regret. “You did not escape the Bahamut in time?” He should have gone back for Balthier, he could have—

Balthier shifted underneath his fingers, and Basch could tell this was a topic Balthier did not much wish to discuss. But Basch tapped Balthier’s chin, forcing him to look up and meet his gaze. The answer was reluctant. “We did. We were less fortunate when it came to flying debris, I’m afraid.”

Basch studied the scars more closely. Although they were well-healed, it was apparent that they had been very serious indeed, perhaps life-threatening.

Balthier shrugged off Basch’s scrutiny, an impatient gesture. “Against the window or against the desk?” he whispered, obviously trying to change the subject, leaning in and nipping at his mouth, and Basch had little choice but to accept the distraction. Wordlessly he gripped him and urged him to the floor, and then moved to cover him with his body, a bold, seamless motion that made Balthier blink in surprise.

“You’ve changed,” the sky pirate told him, his tanned hands mapping Basch’s body and trailing up his sides, mapping the flex of muscles. “You have more…assurance.”   
Basch smiled at that. “A year may accomplish many things,” he replied.

“And almost complete power as Judge Magister helps, no doubt.” Wryly.

“No doubt.”

“Authority suits you,” Balthier’s words were broken off by a hitched moan as Basch palmed him and jacked him slowly, and then skimmed his fingers a little lower, testing.

“Here,” Balthier said, pressing a small vial into Basch’s hand.

“T’is very quick,” Basch said, surprised.

A quick gleam of teeth. “A leading man is always prepared,” and Basch shook his head and slicked his fingers, drizzling it onto Balthier and rubbing it in.

Balthier swore in Archadian as he pressed a finger inside, the harsh, glottal words flowing off his tongue fluently, but then he fell silent, only breathing harshly as Basch added another careful finger, then a third and he lifted his hips into each small thrust and exploratory stretch, and shivered.

He opened his eyes as Basch entered him, irises blown and black, inhaling through flared nostrils. Basch licked Balthier’s lower lip where he was biting it until it was released, and then they were sharing the same breath, surging together in the same movement, hips meeting in awkward tandem. Basch’s hand was clenched in the soft, expensive carpet next to Balthier’s head and the other was cupping the side of Balthier’s head, thumb across his cheek. Balthier was holding him by the hips, legs splayed wide over Basch’s arms and bent over as far as he could go.

Warm, hot, and tight, and slick, moist lips gasping for air, Balthier writhing beneath him and breathing his name like a prayer with each upthrust. It was perfect and it was agonizing, and it was much too short before light exploded behind Basch’s eyes and he spilled himself into Balthier’s willing body with a groan.

He lay for a few moments, face buried in Balthier’s damp neck. Growing aware of Balthier’s growing impatience, he raised himself with trembling arms and Balthier grabbed at him with a hissed “Wait, not yet.” He thrust up at him and into Basch’s tight hand, head thrown back, mouth open, eyes slitted. Basch covered his mouth with his own and thrust into him a few more times, rubbing the head with a rough thumb, and Balthier came shuddering, almost silent, striping white across his belly.

They collapsed atop each other, and Balthier laid his cheek against the top of Basch’s head.   
They had enough time for the sweat to cool on their bodies, and Balthier was almost drowsing when Basch said quietly, “Don’t do that again. To me.” His arms tightened around Balthier.

Balthier stiffened. “No,” he said after a moment. “No promises.” He turned his face away, and Basch knew that to question further risked losing Balthier, damn the man and how he clutched the secrets of his past to himself, like poisoned jewels.

“Where did you go to heal?” he asked instead of asking the more combative _Where have you been?_, although he could guess. There were only so many medical centers in Ivalice. One was in Archades, and the other, Rozzaria. The other in Landis had been destroyed many years ago.

Balthier seemed to think it a safe question. “Eruyt Village.” Guardedly.

Basch was startled. “There?”

“The Viera are particularly skilled in the healing arts, apparently.” Balthier laughed a little. “They produce the best-quality X-Potions in Ivalice, if a sky pirate could only persuade them to trade. Only the Espers know what Fran had to say or do to gain our admittance.”

Basch was silent for some minutes. He spent it thinking, while tracing the lines of Balthier’s chest, and discovering smaller, less noticeable scars. Older scars, too. “And Fran?” he asked finally. It occurred to him that he should have asked about her first, but in the whirlwind of his emotions and ensuing sex he had completely forgotten her.

“She is well.” Balthier didn’t squirm, but Basch could read his shifts, his suddenly wandering attention to their surroundings, and he rolled off and let Balthier up. Balthier immediately began to search for his clothes, and having found them, extracted a handkerchief and began cleaning himself.

Basch was silent for a long time, then he said, “Come back to Tsenoble with me. Just for tonight then.”

The handkerchief paused, then resumed. Basch read the yes in the slight flutter of Balthier’s eyelashes, and the slight curve of his mouth. But Balthier’s answer was flippant. “How will you account for your missing prisoner?”

“Easy. The imprisoned aristocrat is suddenly found to be pardoned of all charges, past and present.” Basch smiled ironically at him. “Of course, this means more paperwork for me.”

Balthier laughed aloud. “I see you’ve discovered the joys of Archadian bureaucracy.” And Basch admired how much younger, how much his age Balthier looked when he laughed.

“It seems I have," he murmured.

Balthier shook his head at him. “Why do you think I left?” and Basch had to laugh.   
“If you’d timed your arrest for any later in the day or if I’d decided to ignore the summons, you may well have spent the entire night in a cell.”

Balthier gave him that smug smile again. “You’ll notice I timed everything perfectly. Of course.”

“Of course.”

 


End file.
